Page 44 of Death's Daughter
But instead of the triumph or even eagerness I expect to see,Devon’s expression is grim, unhappy. “I find it works well as a distraction.”
It does, but the deep lines on either side of his full mouth suggest that he would rather it didn’t.
“So you came to Beecher because of this succession talk.” I refocus the conversation for his sake. And mine. Also, because all the talk about allegiances in Happy’s last night suddenly makes more sense.
“It’s slightly more complicated than that, but yes, essentially. I’m here. I want to help.” He crosses his arms over his chest, the curve of smooth muscle rising in his biceps.
I stare at him. “Why?” I ask. I suppose that might make me cynical as fuck, but “help” in the world of the Old Ones is rarely what it seems. At best, it’s self-serving; at worst, it’s an opening for betrayal.
Devon shifts uncomfortably before his smooth, charming mask slides back into place. “You’re the first named successor in centuries. The only one Death has ever named in our recorded history. Why wouldn’t I want to get in on the ground floor with a favor?” He gaze drops to my mouth, making me wonder what said favors might involve.
The heat of his breath against my skin, the ripple of magic like a touch, raising goosebumps but in the most pleasurable way possible. I’ve never been with someone like me and…
No.I shake my head to clear it. I’m not even sure Devon’s leaking power on purpose. But he’s certainly dodging the question intentionally enough. “Don’t do that,” I say sharply. “You want me to believe you, you need totalk. Tell me.”
He grimaces, then turns away from me slightly, raking a hand through his hair. “There are rumors,” he begins, after a moment.
“Rumors about me?”
Devon nods. “That you don’t kill. That you don’t feed any more than necessary.”
My cheeks burn with embarrassment. It sounds both so weak and… overly pious when he puts it that way. As if I’ve chosen some higher path. In reality, I feed far more often than I’d like, even still, and my “dietary restrictions” are more about what I can live with than some kind of moral calling.
“I don’t hate myself for what I am. I had no choice in that,” Devon continues.
I try not to squirm. Yes, okay, self-loathing plays a role in my choices, too.
“I feed on humans because I need to survive. But I have no interest in the schemes and power struggles of the Old Ones and their spawn.” He hesitates. “I don’t want to defend territory or try to fend off those who would try to use me in their schemes. I don’t want to kill or harm any more than I must.”
I open my mouth to object, to point to the brothers, to Lennie.
“Not as deeply as I can and never for long,” Devon says fiercely, green eyes bright with determination.
Ah. So clearly that’s a tender spot for him. And he is powerful, then, if I’ve not yet seen the full gauge of his ability.
He holds my gaze, not blinking, not flinching away.
And I find Iwantto believe him. There’s a loosening of the tension I’ve been carrying in my gut since starting my search for him. It would be nice to not be alone in this strange position, caught between both worlds. To have someone onmyside.
But because I’m me, because I know too much, because I’ve heard too many stories from my mother and my father, I can’t.
Devon must sense my hesitation. “You’ll be a target, Death’sdaughter, not just because of your named successor status, but because of how you’ve chosen to live. They’ll think you’re weak, easily conquered.” His expression is bland now, his tone that of someone reciting dry, indisputable facts. But underneath that, I sense something familiar—a faint frisson of desperation. And fear. Devon is afraid. Of something or someone. “But I can help, in exchange for the ability to live in the territory you claim without being forced to…” He pauses, a flash of bleakness, of pain, passing across his face before vanishing into that carefully cultivated blank handsomeness. “Take action against my wishes.”
“And that’s why you want… an alliance. With me.” Just saying the words makes my mouth flood with saliva, and I swallow hard to keep from gagging.
He nods.
Hell no!But I keep my voice soft instead of shouting the way I want to. “I need to tell you… I’m not going to do this. I won’t be the new Death.” Why do I suddenly feel guilty?
Devon’s lips part, his brows drawing together in a frown. Then he shakes his head. “I’m not sure you have a choice,” he says.
I narrow my eyes at him.
He holds his hands up. “That’s not a threat,” he says quickly. “Just a statement of fact.”
“Why? There has to be some kind of ritual or something where he passes his power to me, right? That hasn’t happened.” Though, for all I know, my father is hunkered down right now in some secret Old Ones lair chanting a mystical ritual involving bones and blood or whatever. “He named me, that’s it.” I shrug. “So, he canunnameme.” I sound more confident than I feel. I’ve always been good at that.
Devon steps closer to me, his expression one of sorrow. Almost pity. As if I’m the slow kid who’s just not getting it yet. “Your friend Lennie died because of magic, you said.”
